Booty Bay: Tavern Scene
by Norvegica
Summary: A troll rogue cleverly orchestrates chaos without repercussions to himself in Booty Bay with the help of a Forsaken by the name of Deimos the Slayer. Based off of my brother's Forsaken character.


"Wait. What? No. No. You've got to be kidding me."   
"HIIIIiiiieeeee!"  
Skinny, fetid, rotty arms encircled Til'zun.  
"Soomeeebody needs a hug!"  
Til'zun gagged at the smell of death and the preternaturally strong clench about his sides.  
"Let me go. Or you'll be spending the rest of your time here looking for your arms."  
"M'kay!"  
Til'zun snarled softly. Great. Of all the towns of Azeroth, he'd have to be here. A shadow loomed over him and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.  
"Long time no see, Til'zun."  
Til'zun turned and peered up at the tauren.  
"Vaash."  
The tauren's eyes narrowed companionably.  
"I see Deimos has greeted you already."   
The demented undead in question was minutely examining a piece of trash he fished from the ground. He tossed it into his mouth.   
"Deimos, what did I tell you about eating things you find on the ground," Vaash chided.  
"…Uh?"  
"Don't eat things you find on the ground."  
"I got's a pie! I made it myself!"  
Vaash's slow, measured blink made Til'zun smile, despite himself.  
"He still part of your guild?"  
Vaash nodded.  
"Deimos, go repair your armor. And come straight back."   
Deimos' head wobbled in what could be confirmation and he marched off in a wild, loose-limbed goosestep.  
"I think you got more patience than the rest of the whole world." Vaash shrugged.   
"He's unstoppable in battle. I only have to worry about him in town or while exploring any of the mazelike caverns in this world. He thinks he can fly, sometimes. Or trips off of cliffs."  
Til'zun raised a sardonic eyebrow just as a flock of chickens began squawking in fear.  
"And that be him causing trouble, right?"  
"He better not be trying to eat things alive again," Vaash muttered as he strode toward the noise.

It was so nice in town. Yes. Town. Nice. So many people to see, so many people say hello too. And Vaash said something about fixing his stuff and he thought he remembered where the smithy was, he thought, he thought-  
"Chickens!"  
Deimos flopped down on his stomach and stared at them from his eyeless sockets. They clucked at him and clucked at him and wait…  
"Dance with us, Deimos," the flock sang. "Dance with us to OBLIVION!"  
"M'kay!"

The situation wasn't dire yet. So far, there was just a crowd of people from both factions staring in disbelief as an undead warrior flailed and twisted on the ground like an epileptic snake, clucking like mad while clutching panicked chickens in his hands. Vaash picked him up and shook him.  
"Hey! Stop that!"   
"BWWWAAK-BWWAAAK-BWWAAAK-"  
"Drop the chickens!"  
One unlucky bird managed to struggle free and careened into Vaash's face. The tauren sneezed and Deimos shrieked with laughter. Vaash turned Deimos over and dropped him on his head.

Til'zun, against his better judgment, had trailed Vaash to the disturbance. Some perverse part of him wanted to watch Deimos and his unerring knack of causing bizarre scenes in public. As long as they didn't involve him. Trolls have long memories when it came to wrongs committed against them. Well, getting a pot of honey dumped on him in a full tavern that one time because some how Deimos misinterpreted a "Hey there." as a demand to "Surrender your delicious brainmeats!" didn't really count as a wrong, so much as abject social horror of the greatest sort. The undead mage in Deimos' guild who was supposed to be preventing such outbursts explained to him that Deimos was a "special one" amongst undead.

Trolls don't do the sort of dark magics that make the undead, but Til'zun was familiar enough with magic for a rogue to understand the basics. As far as the mage could tell from Deimos' rambling and frequently off topic answers to questioning, he was once one of the most efficient and ruthless generals of the Scourge. Capable. Merciless. And then, the Lich King's hold over him faltered, and somehow… whatever was left of his brains… broke. Went bye-bye. Most of the unlucky who pretty much needed the control of the Lich King went catatonic or violently insane. Til'zun understood that part. The Forsaken as a whole eliminated those lost to all reason. Useless. But all Deimos was afflicted with, if you wanted to be charitable, was a constant stream of dissonant sounds and outlandish visions in his head and a complete lack of impulse control. And cheer. Relentless, reckless, hyperactive cheer the likes of which Til'zun had only seen in his niece if she got greedy with sugarcane. The mage concluded that he plainly did not experience the world as other beings did. It was only in battle, where after some frantic screaming of alarm and fear that the warrior's rage flooded his senses, that he showed cogent intelligence. Til'zun supposed it was like constantly drinking the more potent and illicit potions that the apprentice witch doctors back home cooked up when they got bored.

Til'zun suppressed a chuckle as Vaash jounced Deimo's head on the ground some more before throwing him over his shoulder and walking off to the smithy. Well, there wasn't any property damage, so it was okay. Now. Off for some drink!

Humans, Til'zun decided, were a boorish bunch. Especially when they are sloshed, as evidenced by the strapping male specimen currently assaulting his ears and the ears around him with loud slurred Common. It looked like the man was attempting, operative word attempting, to impress and proposition a nightelf. The lady in question wasn't appreciative to say the least. She snapped something in Common that sounded as dismissive as anything Til'zun encountered from a disinterested female. But the fog of alcohol was strong with the human and he was not giving up. The night elf began looking towards others in the tavern with a beseeching expression. Nobody volunteered to help. It was obvious that she could've handled the situation on her own, but the Booty Bay bruisers were notorious for administering beatings first and asking questions later. She then noticed Til'zun's frank watching. She smiled at him. Desperately. Well. Pretty is as pretty does, his mother used to say. And besides, it's not often that he got to be a gentleman to so fair a lady. He raised his tankard at her and left his stool, grinning at her disappointed look.

He found Vaash and the rest of his group at the back of the tavern. Deimos was mixing something gloopy and greenish in a bowl, humming with contentment.  
"Vaash, can I borrow your idiot for a minute?"  
Vaash stared at him.  
"Don't you hate him?"   
"Nah. I got use for him."  
"Okay. But if something explodes or gets set on fire, it'll be your fault."  
Til'zun nodded.  
"Hey. Deimos, man, what you got there?"  
"I'm making a pie!"  
Oh boy.  
"Really?"  
"Yep! It's got peanuts and soap in it!"  
"Uh huh. Want a drink with me? Tell me some adventuring stories?"  
The skin on Deimos' lower face was thin and even gone in some places; his lips were shriveled and permanently stretched into a rigor mortis grin. Ironic, that.   
"M'kay!"

The nightelf shot Til'zun a disgruntled look when she saw the undead with him. Til'zun pulled a barstool next to the drunken human and offered it to Deimos.  
"Okay, man. Tell me something. Anything."  
"Uh. Okay! So, you know how we have this queen?"   
"…Yeah. She used to be a nightelf, right?"   
"YEEEAAAaaaAAH!"  
Til'zun waited for the rest and Deimos just stared at him with his blank, ginning visage.  
"Well?"   
"Huh? What?"  
Til'zun took another drink. Okay. No big deal. Deimos did tell him _something_ literally.  
"I'm not allowed into Undercity anymore," Deimos announced, apropos of nothing.  
"Really? Why?"  
"I tried to give the queen a present."  
Pleasure that was entirely anticipatory took hold of Til'zun.  
"And I was going to give her the prettiest butterflies. But. They were so pretty I had to keep them to myself, you know? So I ate them. To keep them with me." Deimos' hands flailed in the air.  
"So I baked her a pie."  
"…Mmm."   
"I didn't know she was allergic to lye and oil at the same time! She started coughing up bubbles and I was so happy, because bubbles were pretty like butterflies only they all started hitting me and I panicked and I think I killed a bunch of people and so I'm not allowed into Undercity anymore."  
"Okay."  
"But I go back anyways."  
"Really."  
"Yep. I'm the best Pie Master in Lordereon. They NEEeeeEEd me!"  
Oh, the delusion. Til'zun took another drink and then belched. This was the funniest thing in the world, because Deimos began to laugh. He creaked and wheezed like a rusty door and his emaciated limbs began to flail.  
"I wanna do that!" Without a by your leave, Deimos grabbed Til'zun's tankard.  
"Hey! That's some strong-"  
Deimos tipped the contents into his gullet. He coughed and his tongue lolled out. He gasped.  
"Whhooooh. That's-"  
He coughed and Til'zun could swear he heard a hollow rattle coming from Deimo's torso. Deimos coughed again.  
"AAAaaaaAaaahHHH! It BUUUUUuuuuUUUUrrrrRRRnNNNSSS!"  
The tavern crowd as a whole turned to watch as Deimos' screamed and twisted in his seat. Til'zun backed off, wary. Deimos clawed at his chest and failing to find any help in that, scrambled off his barstool and knocked into the drunken man. The human shoved Deimos, who spun in a wide arc and promptly belched in the human's face. Fetid stink hit Til'zun's poor nose. The human stood stock still in shock. Deimos belched again and lo, projectile undead vomit followed. A shower of slimy pebbles and bolts hit the human in the face. With a roar, the man slammed his fist forward. Deimos' head snapped backwards with a snap crack of bone. He wobbled, his head sitting on his back.   
"Sssshetttuppppiiidd…" he faintly trilled.  
He grabbed his head and snapped it back in place.  
"SomeeeEEEBBOOOODDdyYYY gonna get a HUUuuRRRRRRRTTIIING!"  
Til'zun knew trouble was brewing when Deimos' normally high, spacey, wavering child voice transformed into a deep, horribly bestial growl. He quickly backed up. Deimos' longsword was a thing of terrible beauty when in action. But no. Deimos reached into his rucksack and swooped forward. Dagger? Deimos grabbed the front of the human's pants and shoved…a gopher? Two gophers? Down them. The man began to scream and claw at his trousers and Deimos laughed like the moon-touched loon that he was. The Booty Bay bruisers closed in and the tavern was in an uproar.

The loose plan, such as it was, worked perfectly. The drunk human was injured, humiliated, and out for the count. Deimos took a fair beating, but was too delirious from the rage high and whatever was mixing with the liquor in his gut to feel it. And frankly, since it wasn't the first time he caused a scene in Booty Bay, he got off lightly. Plus, two gophers didn't classify as a weapon, as much as the human's friends tried to argue it. Even arguing with goblins in the first place was a futile task. Ha. Til'zun finally remembered to check up on the night elf. She was giving him a hugely nonplussed look. Til'zun gave a slight bow at her and a grin that he knew from childhood to be exceptionally cheeky. She suppressed a giggle and shook her head in bemusement before turning away. Ah. Well. It was fun anyway.

The End


End file.
